look both ways
In a world where women’s rights are quickly dissolving, I try to address the experience that a woman may have when undergoing a medical abortion, and how that procedure triggers critical life questions.
When I have that stream of blood,
I think, “What if I chose you?”
How would my life had changed?
Would more meaningful thoughts occupy my brain?
Day to day would be for you,
you would be my morning,
and my evening,
the sun rising,
and setting,
my vision would melt,
and days would sit suspended
as I hold you in my arms
you and me, sugar bee, alone,
as I reject the life of my mother,
who nursed the wounds of both
father and daughter
a monumental task
unsuitable for any single human,
tiring for any singular mother,
I would decide to leave him
in his step back to bitter, cold beer,
so, I can have you to myself
for years without trauma, nor fear
protect you from the scars of my youth,
yet, never able to escape your paternity,
that addiction runs through our veins the same,
and you, my love, are cursed with blood
that’s thinner than others,
red blood cells that alcohol coils
around like a snake,
you can’t touch it — it’s poison
I sit and watch the red
flowing like spoiled wine
clumps and clumps of you,
thin blood and future and all
gone in one final bloop
of tissue against water
I kneel beside and search
My hands wet with water
and blood
and tissue
and Earth
I try to find you
so that I can be certain
if I am to have a choice,
if I am to decide,
then, I’ll follow through
with morbid intrigue,
as the scientist I am,
to confirm that the life of my mother
will not be my life to live
that this story of trauma can
end with me, alone in this bathroom
alone with the refuse
of my failed experiment
and I might continue my plan
morning and evening,
day to day,
month to month,
as it was intended,
and I know
when I am ready,
and you return
that I will be able
to sit suspended in time
with you in my arms,
this time, sugar bee,
we won’t be alone
